Stunticon Friday
by JokerCarnage5
Summary: In this story the Stunticons are a gang of teenage hoodlums that steals cars and raises hell. This is a friday in the life of their most disturbed member, Dead End. Human AU. Rated T for themes of suicide, death & drugs. Cover Image by Clarino2013 from DeviantArt.


**Stunticon Friday**

 **Suggested Theme Song: Those Nights (Skillet)**

* * *

Father time hates me. He torture me by having time move even slower the last minutes of Friday's last class.

"Can someone tell me how many moons Jupiter has and what their names are?" My professor asks the class.

I normally don't mind physics (no more than any other class) but when we study astronomy it always depresses me, but then again what doesn't depresses me? I guess most people look at the universe and see grand opportunities to explore but I just see cosmos taunting our insignificance in our faces. My psychiatrist tells me my mind is like flypaper for negative thoughts. All my negative thoughts gets trapped and multiply like fly larvae in a roadkill while all positive thoughts just evaporates.

I look over my classmates, all divided into cliques. The sport jocks, the popular crew, the nerds, the goths, the nobodies and then there's me. I am none of those things.

 _I am a Stunticon._

My name Dead End and no, it is not the name my parents gave me, it is my gang name. My gang, a group of equally aged guys who socialize for what I guess the others consider fun or steal cars to sell scrap.

The clock finally rings. I guess father time or whoever controls this cosmos do have mercy. I stuffed my science books into my backpack and headed directly for the school exit.

Once outside I found one of my gang members already waiting for me by the stairs. The only other Stunticon apart from me to actually go to school, Breakdown. By his muscled physic and blue jogging clothes you would take him for a jock, and while it is true that he is incredible fit he lacks that smug overconfident attitude most of those blockheads have. He was diagnosed with paranoia a few years ago so the gang dubbed him Breakdown because of his social anxiety attacks and his love for tearing things apart when he gets angry.

"Dead End, what's up?" He sounded cheery, I guess because I am one of the few friends he has.

"Nothing is ever up Breakie, it's always down." HA, humor. I am funny. Before my comrade could say anything else my cellphone pepped. I checked it. It was an SMS from our leader Motormaster.

"What does it say?" Breakdown asked.

"He wants us to meet him by the construction site." I put away my cell and started walking. "Come on, we better not be late if we want to keep our teethes in place."

Breakdown followed me. "Did he say what he wanted?"

I turned to him, giving him a sharp glare. "Does it matter?"

He simple shock his head.

* * *

The construction site is one of many places my team likes to hang. It is an unfinished building, a skeleton of a house that for some reason never got finished. When I and Breakdown reached the place the other Stunticon's was already there.

Dragstrip stood on the top of the construction. As usually he had his yellow jumpsuit and orange sunglasses on. With his blonde hair caught in the bris and his arms stretched to the sky he shouted, "I won! Look at me Wildrider, I won." The never ending leitmotiv of Dragstrip.

Wildrider whoever was too busy swinging and jumping between the wooden bars like some kind of psychotic monkey to listen to Dragstrip's bragging. He probably didn't even know they were competing. Wildrider has tanned skin, a red west over a black shirt and a pair of cone shaped ear-piercings as well as a dark Mohawk. Fittingly only an insane person would dress like that.

Motormaster stood with his arms in cross in an imposing post, but then every pose he makes is imposing. Motormaster is twenty years old (two years older than the rest of us) and is a towering behemoth of muscles. He has black skin, a black jacket, black boots, black-yeah you get the idea. He had a serious scowl. Great, he is pissed.

"You two are late." We are?

"Sorry." Breakdown apologized.

Dragstrip comes down to the ground and walked cockily up to us. "You two should quit school like we did."

"Yeah, school is so boring." Wildrider says in that odd pseudo-Texas accent of his while sitting like a chimp on one of the bars.

I decided to give the guys a piece of my mind. "First off Dragstrip, you didn't quit school, you were expelled. Second, I know that none of you do anything but sit on your asses or sleep until 14:00 so what the fuck is it to you what we do."

"Whatever." Motormaster snarled. He then gave Breakdown a small smile. He has almost always been nicer to him than to the rest of us. "So, is everything ready for tonight Breakdown?"

"Hell ya it is. My mom will be out with her new boyfriend all night so we will have the entire house to ourselves." Breakdown cheerfully replied.

Dragstrip clutched his chin with a fake thoughtful expression. "Hmm, that's odd. Most girls are satisfied for weeks after I hump them."

"What do you mean?" Breakdown asked with a pout.

"I totally banged your mom."

"Shut the fuck up! You didn't!" Breakdown shouted. I could practically smell a conflict bruin.

"I don't lie, I banged her and her c-sized fun-bags." Dragstrip exclaimed smugly.

"Take that back!" Breakdown snapped.

Dragstrip noticed he was getting under his teammates skin and decided to press a little further. "She said I was the best she had in years." He said as if Breakdown wasn't even there but he definitely noticed when Breakdown tackled him to the ground and barraged him with fists to the face. Wow, that went faster than I thought.

"Shut up about my momma, you fucking turd!"

"What are you going to do about it, virgin?" Dragstrip managed to kneel the heavier teen in the hip which allowed him to flip Breakdown on his back and started gleefully beat him up.

It amuses me a bit how people can start harming each other over something as inane as insults toward a parental figure.

Breakdown wrapped his arm around Dragstrips neck, rolled onto the race drivers back and started to yank his head back. If I didn't know better I would think Breakdown was trying to break his neck.

Motormaster thou had enough of it. He grabbed Breakdown around the abdomen and dragged him away from Dragstrip. Dragstrip took this as an invitation to beat him up even more so he ran at him. Motormaster noticed this and managed to plant his foot between the two combatants. This caused Dragstrip to immediately stop dead in his tracks. Our leader then wrapped his arm around Breakdown's throat until the poor guy's head became red.

"Now, I don't want to see you fight your teammates." He then looked at Dragstrip. "And I have had enough of your shitfaced attitude. Stop it or you're out." He released Breakdown and pushed him towards Dragstrip. "Now, shake hands and put this shit behind you."

"Yay, kiss each other!" Wildrider shouted out of the blue and for once I wasn't the only one that ignored him.

Pouting the former combatants' reluctantly shacked hands but thu to Breakdown's rage and Dragstrip's competitive nature it soon became an arm-wrestling match. Their locked arms moved back and forth until they separated and Breakdown took a swing at Dragstrip but the blonde dodged his fist and punched him quickly in the side. Breakdown took this in strides and moved away from him (making him the better man in my opinion). Dragstrip grinned over getting in the last hit.

Everyone was silent for a minute. The atmosphere is always a bit tense after a fight, which happens quite often. I don't know if it is just a guy thing but all of us are worked up with testosterone and negativity 24/7 which seriously needs venting. It wouldn't surprise me if Dragstrip planned this for those reasons alone.

"Dragstrip, you brining the movie, right?" Motormaster asked, probably trying to redirect everyone's attention.

"Yes I do, as long as Breakdown got DVD that is."

"We do have DVD, moron." Breakdown growled.

Alright! Pornos!" Wildrider exclaimed while hanging upside-down from a wooden bar.

"Okay guys. Gather around." Our leader exclaimed, sounding excited. Once we had gathered in front of him he pulled out a convoluted magazine. He opened up a page and handed it to me. "What do you say about this school boy?"

The page had a picture of a white van on a green grass field. "The Alfso M5 Delux. Built for comfort and safety." I read out laud in a bored sighing manner, probably cause I couldn't care less.

Motormaster yanked the magazine out of my hands. "As it happens, Scrapper is searching for one and I so happen to know where to find one." He walked over to the construction and picked up a crowbar that rested against the wooden pillar. He spun it in the air one time before sticking it inside his belt. He turned to us with a sly grin. "Get ready to earn your keeps boys."

* * *

We walked down the street in a united line with Motormaster in lead. A trio of roller-skate girls drove past us. Wildrider took one of the girls by the hips and spun her around in dance-like fashion before letting her go. The thin girl almost fell but managed to grab a hold off a streetlight. "Fuck you Wally!" She apparently didn't enjoy it as much as Wildrider did.

"The names Wildrider, sugar pie."

"You better stay at that pole Arcee, you will be doing a lot of work on those in the future, hahah." Dragstrip mocked. I now remember seeing that chick at one of Dragstrip's racetracks. I am pretty sure she is a transvestite down there.

We walked past a black street gang, hanging out on a set of stairs. "Yo, look. It is the little gangsters." One of them shouted.

Motormaster simple flashed them his middle finger. I remember that Motormaster have was approached to join one of those niger gangs but said no because he wanted to "set a good example for his brothers" whatever that means.

* * *

"There it is." Motormaster stated as we all observed the shining van on the other side of the street, parked outside one of those terrace-houses.

"Pretty sweet, for a van." Dragstrip reluctantly complimented. He was one of the biggest automobile enthusiasts I knew but that only regarded sports cars.

"Okay Dead End, you follow me. The rest of you wait here." Motormaster ordered before running towards the van. I pulled my hoody over my head and followed. Even thou I couldn't see it from the other side of the van I knew double M was using that crowbar to bend open the car door. The door went open the same second as the alarm bell from hell started victimizing my eardrums. He shut down the alarm and opened the door for me. "So you open the door for the other while I hot-wire this thing." He ordered me, jerking his thumb at the backseats.

I sighed and was about to move over to the backseats when a sudden brick crashed thru the window, it was only thru luck that I didn't get cut by any of the glass splinters. Looking thru the broken window I saw Wildrider literally licking his wounds from the glass shards. Dragstrip quickly took opportunity of Wildrider's handy work and climbed in. He then opened the door for Wildrider and Breakdown.

I guess I should have been mad at Wildrider for nearly permanently blinding me but I have lost hope in my psychotic friend ever learning anything so why bother. "Are you sure there will be enough left of this thing when we finally-

"WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING?" A bald man screamed as he ran out of the nearest house.

"O shit." Motormaster stepped on the gas and drove off as quickly as the family vehicle could.

"Crap, crap, crap." Breakdown shouted as he feeble tried to shut the side-door. He finally managed to shit it, almost falling out in the process.

There you have it. Another car-jacking. I wonder what kind of after-school job normal teenagers have.

* * *

After we sold the van to Scrapper Motormaster told us to go home to get some hours of rest before the sleep over at Breakdown's place, I also think it was because Dragstrip and Breakdown was about to start another fight.

So, since I am a depressed, suicidal street-punk you must think I am living in a rundown shovel with leaking water pipes and worn-down wallpapers. That my parents are either abusive or non-existent. Well, I hate to burst your bubble but my home life is about as normal as it comes. I come from an upper middleclass family and lives in a two-story house in the suburbs. My dad is the manager of the local _Toys R Us_ and my mom is a kindergarten teacher. They love me but I can't do more than tolerate them. They frustrate me and I wish they would just leave me alone. My mom usually tell me to smile more often. _Smile and people will like you_ she says but I don't want people to like me, I want be happy and I won't smile unless I am happy.

I opened the door and headed directly for the stairs.

"Hey Deimon!" My dad shouted from the nearby living room. I stopped halfway up the stairs and sighed. I really hoped I could have avoided greeting him.

"Sigh, hey, dad!"

"You want to watch The Simpsons?"

"Dad, I haven't watched The Simpsons since I was ten!" I snapped back. I made journey up the rest of the stair and entered my room. Already when I opened the door I could feel the scent of candle smoke and potato ships.

My room is a bit closer to what people would expect. The sun-blinders on the windows are closed and the ceiling lamps are turned off. I have a few candle lights on a small table that provides light. I have a computer I barely use and a bookcase but usually I just leaves my books on the floor near the bed. I have two posters of Marilyn Manson and one of Dawn of the Dead. The covers on my bed was contorted to something that looked like a boa constrictor. I laid down in bed and pushed the covers to the floor that was already covered with crumbled poems. I like writing poems but I am pretty bad at it. I put on my headset and picked up a Lovecraft book from the floor.

Reading stories gives me little pleasure but sometimes they resonate with me. Sometimes I found characters for me to relate to or a story that seem to convey my feelings. It makes me feel a bit less isolated, a bit less special.

"DEIMON!" My mom's shout pierce thru my music.

"WHAT?"

"DON'T FORGET YOUR MEDICATION."

"I WON'T." I sounded as mad as possible to make sure she wouldn't respond again. After a second of silence I was sure it worked. I pulled out a paper box from under the bed. In it I have one jar of fluoxetine and a smaller one with Nembutal. For those that don't know, fluoxetine is anti-depressants and Nembutal is a powerful anaesthetic but it has a more morbid use. Suicide.

I took up both jars, holding both in each hand. Which one to take? I'm not like most suicidal people. I'm not in any pain, I'm just numb. I sighed, placed the jars back in the box and pushed it back under my bed.

So now that you know about my life and my family I bet you're on your fucking edges to hear about my so called friends. Our glorious leader Motormaster lives in a cheap apartment building in the middle of town. His dad suffered a stroke a few years ago and is pretty much a semi-conscious vegetable right now, making Motormaster the sole provider of the family which is why he gets a bigger cut whenever we score some dough. Double M also has two younger brothers that he care about more than anything. He also has a girlfriend, she along with his two exes can easily be identified by the bruises around their eyes. Loving family provider and abusive boyfriend, Motormaster truly is a devil with angel wings.

Motormaster was originally called Truckmaster since the guy knew how to handle those eight wheeled things but the name didn't last so we started calling him Motormaster or Double M instead.

Breakdown? How did a bullied mamas-boy like him get involved with a gang of hoodlums like us? Well, it is kind of an interesting tale.

Little Breakdown or Benjamin as he was called back then used be bullied everyday on his way to school by Motormaster, Wildrider and Dragstrip that stole his lunch-money but instead of crying or snitching on them he just…took it, every blow every punch. This went on for about two weeks until one day instead of punching the guy Motormaster offered him a cig. Benjamin took the cig and Breakdown smoked it.

As I understand it he has gone thru quit a _transformation_ since then. He used to be a short, scrawny wimp but now he is a muscular hulk. Ever since joining the team he'd been hitting the gym with Motormaster. Really building himself up. Now, if anyone mess with him they get their teethes punched out.

He lives in a row-house with his single mother that is a nurse. He is very close to her. If you ever see them together you more than likely will see them hugging. His dad left them when he was very young so it's no wonder they keep each other close.

So if Breakdown entered the group as a punching bag how did I become one of the Stunticons? I blame it all on Wildrider. It all started when a teacher found a gun in my locker. I and my parents was then summoned to the principles office. You should have seen the scene I made when I explained that it wasn't mine. I should be given an Oscar for that performance. Sadly, while it did save me from being expelled it didn't save me from detention thou to some disturbing poems I had in that locker.

It was in detention where I meet Wildrider. The crazy Texan asked me things about guns and suicide (gossip spread fast in school I guess) and thought my sarcasm was funny. After school he introduced me to the other Stunticons as the Suicide Genius (if I was I wouldn't be here anymore) and so it began.

Wildrider's family originated from a small town in Texas which is where they got that strange accent. His mom died ten years ago from a cocaine over-dose and that was all it took for his dad to become a violent, drunken deadbeat. According to what I have heard his dad beats pretty badly every time he gets out of line, which being Wildrider is pretty often but I honestly think the beatings is less like punishment for Widrider and more like therapy for his dad.

The crazy Texan was sent to an asylum when he was eleven and according his files he suffers from IED, atypical autism, Tourette syndrome, reality distortion, DSED, depersonalization, A SPD and a bunch other disorders that I can't remember. Somehow he was let out a few years latter (don't ask me how). Some people have said that Wildrider just play crazy for street cred. Funny thing is that those same people was found half dead, wearing bunny-costume in a basement a week later.

Then there's Dragstrip, the last person anyone would assume to be a Stunticon. Unlike the rest of us Dragstrip comes from a rich upper-class family. His dad is an executive at wall-street (a real life Gordon Gekko type of guy) and his mom is a trophy wife. A blonde MILF with double D tits. Of all their seven children Dragstrip is the youngest and is seen as the disappointing child, which explains that massive Napoleon complex he has. Since at least three of his older siblings loved motorsports he took it up as well and soon became one of the best young racers in town, not that his parents care much. In a way we rather similar. We are just spinning our wheels in the mud without getting anywhere.

I can just see the guy right now, gabbing a beer out of the fridge and goes into his room, all covered in posters of famous athletes & trophies, lays down in his bed and puts on the sports channel.

I guess he became a Stunticon because he wants people to think of him as a tough guy. Most of us don't like him very much but he is rich and can afford us stuff so we tolerate him.

* * *

Later that afternoon I entered Breakdown's house. "Miss Dowson, Breakie, I am here!" I holler and closed the door behind me.

"Heeey" Breakdown's mom shouted from the kitchen. I'm guessing she is doing dishes.

Breakdown meet me in the hall, frowning irritated. "You could have rang the doorbell." He hissed.

"Seemed kind of nonsensical. You know I was coming and it isn't like you have a rabid dog or something." I pointed out.

"Maybe I should get one." Breakdown grumbled.

His frustration over this non-sequitur was getting on my nerves. "Come on, what could happen."

In that moment the door opened and Wildrider stepped in. "Hey, I saw Dead End walking in without ringing the doorbell so I decided to do the same." He said happily and Breakie crossed his arms, pouting judgingly at me.

For some reason the universe decided to make a joke out of everything I do.

Double M and Dragstrip arrived soon enough and so did Miss Dowson's date to pick her up. "Are you sure you guys will be okay?" She asked.

Motormaster smiled pleasantry. "Of course mam. I will make sure they keep whit in their skins."

She seemed confused about Motormaster's choice of words but she shrugged it off and turned to her offspring. "Goodbye sweety." She kissed his cheek.

"Mom…" Breakdown growled embarrassed. Don't worry, this is the only _cute_ part of the story.

Dragstrip was about to say something (something dirty by the look of him) but Motormaster stopped him by squeezing his shoulder.

Miss Dowson waved us goodbye before walking out. Motormaster looked over us and placed his fists on his hips. "Okay guys, here's the rules. No one breaks anything or burn anything and the only places you can smoke is outside and in Breakdown's bedroom. Is that understood?" We all nodded in unison. It is quit weird hearing double M, a known woman beater talk about guest etiquette. Motormaster gives hypocrisy a new face.

First activity of the night was listening to some music on the radio while eating sloppy Pizza. Without any girls dancing isn't much fun so most of us just listen but of course Wildrider breakdanced in front of us. Motormaster stomped his foot in rhythm to the music. He has to have enjoyed it until Wildrider started talking. "Big M bro, we better start yanking the volume on this crib, yo." This caused the big black guy to frown. Wildrider, you crazy racist bastard.

Next was watching a movie and as the mad Texan called it, it was a porno. Stable Girls 3. It was giving me a boner so I guess it was doing its job but it takes quite a lot to make me actually horny.

"Look at her. I fucked a girl just like that last summer." Dragstrip exclaimed.

"No way." Breakdown said.

Dragstrip stood up. "O yeah, I did it like this." He then demonstrated fucking a girl in the dogy style position.

I sighed and cupped my cheeks with a despaired frown on my face. "Wasn't your leg broken last summer?"

Dragstrip stopped his humping and looked embarrassed. "That's right, I did it despite a busted leg." He said with a thumb wipe of the nose. "Pretty impressive, eh?"

"Unbelievable." I sighed.

"I know." Dragstrip said and sat back down.

"Ew, disgusting." Breakdown shrieked, causing the rest of us to turn to him. "Wildrider is yanking it."

"What, it's a porno. You're supposed to masturbating to porn." Wildrider stated defensively.

"Yeah but you're not supposed to whip out your dick in front of people." Motormaster stated.

"You're not?" Wildrider shrieked surprised. "Okay I'll jerk off on the toilet." He said before walking away with his man-meat between his fingers.

I tried to watch the movie again when Motormaster tapped my shoulder. "Come on. I need to talk to you." He said and jerked his heat towards the door. I stood up and followed him to the exit.

"Oouuuuuuuu." Breakdown and Dragstrip cooed in unison.

"Big M is getting horny so he wants a heart to heart with Dead End." Dragstrip joked. Motormaster kicked him in the hip for it before he left the room. Breakdown chuckled at Dragstrip's pain.

I followed my leader to the kitchen. He opened a window and lit a cigarette. "I know I said no smoking except for in Breakies room and outside but I think it's okay if we do it with the window open." He said and then offered me one. "Want one?"

You don't say no when Motormaster offer you something. I took it, lit it and smoked it. "So, what do you want to talk about?"

"The pills."

I know this was coming. He was the one that sold the Nembutal, it isn't exactly something you can buy at the local drugstore. "What about them?"

"Why haven't you taken them yet?"

I just shrugged my shoulders.

Motormaster laughed dryly. "You know, when I sold you those things I thought for sure it was the last time I would ever see you but I gave them to you anyway because you are responsible and because you paid for them."

"Sorry to disappoint you." I cooed.

Big M looked confused. "Why would you want to kill yourself?"

"I don't know, I just want to." I shrugged. "That's why I haven't taken them yet."

"I don't understand you. I would kill to have your life End." He continued to chastise me and I started to get irritated.

"And I'm sure there are starving African children that wants yours and tortured bastards in Saudi-Arabian prisons that wants theirs, really Big M, do you really want to pull the relatively-argument here?" I argued with a nonchalant smirk and sharp eyes.

Motormaster sighed and shook his head.

"Was there anything else?" I asked, knowing this discussion was already won (cause as Dragstrip has taught me, everything is a competition).

Double M put out his cig in the sink. "Yeah, there is another thing. I have been thinking on bringing in a new member to the gang."

This surprised me. "Really? Who? Not Blackjack right? Not even Wildrider is dumb enough to trust that cardshark." I exclaimed confused.

"No, Jimmy Rollsson." He replied in a monotone tone.

"Offroad!" I practically shrieked. Offroad was a local thief and a real charmer with the ladies. Kind of an emo rockstar. I don't know the guy much but I know I don't really like him. "Why would you want him in?"

My leader vented thru the nose. "There's a gangwar on the horizon. I don't know when or who we will be fighting but I know it's coming and if we are to stand a chance against the larger gangs we need more muscles. Offroad knows how to steal and how to fight, we can use him."

Secretly I suspected he had wanted Offroad in the team in case I kicked the bucket. Still, if there really was a war bruin it wouldn't be wrong to have more eyes watching your back (or more cannonfodder, heheh). "I don't trust Offroad but I trust your judgement Master so if you think it's a good idea you should bring him in."

He put a hand on my shoulder. "Just what I wanted to hear, thanks."

"And if I had said something else…?" I asked.

"Then I would still have done it but I would have appreciated your input." Weird, I was sure he would have answered with _Then I would have kicked your ass._

* * *

The rest of the night went on with beer-drinking, watching videos on the internet, smoking pot and talking. Since I found none of those things entertaining I have no idea why we did it. I wouldn't have said I was enjoying myself if we patted kitties and ate ice cream either btw. We all fell asleep around 4 a clock. Of course since the idea was to stay awake the entire night Breakdown and Dragstrip said they only rested their eyes while Double M said he was only getting some shun-eye and that we should wake him up if he slept to long, of course if we did wake him he would just beat us up and go back to sleep.

I tried to sleep on my mattress but something hard butted me in the back. "End, Dead End? You awake?" A raspy Texas accent whispered to me.

I grudgingly rolled over and came face to face with a wide-eyed Wildrider. He was all tied up in his sleepingbag, looking like a weird maggot. "Wildrider, what do you want?"

"Can I come live with you?" He sounded sad.

"What you talking about?"

"Can I move in with you?"

"Wha-"I was too confused to find the words. "Why would you want that?"

"I-I think my dad is going to kill me?" He whimpered. Last time I saw him this upset was when they cancelled Spongebob Squarepants.

"Why do you think that?" I asked while rubbing my forehead.

"He has been beating me every day this week."

"So? What is new?" I asked. Cold, I know but it is the truth.

"He is harder know, he beats me with a belt and *gulp* I found these papers." He replied.

"What papers?"

He sniffled. "He has taken out a life insurance on me and I have seen documentaries on dads killing their kids for the money. You got to help me, dude."

This kind of left me stunned. People have never meant much to me. People close to me has died before and I barely batted an eye at it. I wonder if I should do anything now.

I sighed. "Wildrider, you can't stay at my place. If your dad calls the cops he can accuse my family for kidnaping you if we withhold you." I explained.

"Please man." He begged.

"Why do you ask me for help?" I asked in a sighing manner.

He looked genuinely surprised at my question. "Because…you're my friend."

His statement surprised me. What have I ever done for him that would make him consider me a friend? Still, this was the first time anyone had reached out for my help.

"Okay, I'll see what I can do." I said.

The crazy Texan smiled widely and pressed his body against me, unable to hug me from within the sleepingbag. "Thank you, thank you. You are the best guy ever!" He exclaimed and then snuggled up close to me, burrowing his nose in my chest. This disturbed me.

"Um…Wildrider?" He didn't respond. "Get off me!" I said louder and pushed him of me.

"Uh?" He opened his eyes. "Oh right, sorry." He said and laid down on the floor, quickly falling asleep.

I didn't sleep at all that night. I was just thinking over how I could help Wildrider. I started to get an idea but then I started to wonder why I would do anything. Would I do it because I cared about the maniac, would I do it for the team, maybe I did it to prove myself a good person. I never cared about any of those things but I was still determined to do something.

* * *

Early that morning I got up without ever having fallen asleep and woke-up Dragstrip. "What?" He said.

"Time to get up." I ordered.

He grumbled irritated. "What's the time?"

"7 O'clock." I replied.

Dragstrip slapped me with a pillow. "Too early." He tried to go back to sleep but I clenched his arm painfully.

"You come with me now and you better don't wake the others."

Dragstrip must have gotten scared because he immediately followed me down to the kitchen. I made us each a cup of coffee.

"What do you want?" He asked annoyed.

"I want you to walk me home." I said and took a sip of my coffee.

"Why?"

"Because I order you too and because I am second in command." I said, for once exercising my authority.

"Fuck you!" He spat.

"You want me to tell Motormaster you're disobeying orders." I threatened.

He sighed angrily. "Fine." He tossed the coffee in the sink. "Let's go."

As we walked towards my house I told him about Wildrider's predicament. Too my surprise he was actually somewhat sympathetic about it.

"Poor guy." He said.

"Yeah, but I have an idea on how to help him."

"Since when do you care?"

I ignored his question. "I want you to open up a bank account for him and set in enough money for him to afford an apartment."

"No way!" He shouted and stopped in his tracks. "Why do I have to put my neck on the line for that whacko?" So much for sympathy.

I pushed the racer up against a fence, my arm secured in the croak of his neck. "Listen to me you little shit! Don't you see what a golden opportunity this is for you? If you help Wildrider out the entire team will be indebt to you, if you don't do it I'll make sure Motormaster kicks you out and don't think our enemies will just leave you alone because we won't watch your ass." I both threatened and enticed him. Granted, only half of that was true. I don't think most of us will care that he saves Wildrider's ass but I would surely make his life a living hell if he decided to ignore my order.

He looked stunned. "What if my dad notice."

"He don't care about you and considering how much money he brings in I doubt he would notice if a few thousand went missing." I stated. I then patted his shoulder. "I can even ship in with some dough."

Dragstrip pondered a few seconds before nodding his head. "Alright, I'll do it."

"Good. Thank you. Finally you do something useful." Okay, that wasn't true. Dragstrip is the best driver in the team which has helped us with several carjackings but right now I needed him subservient.

We reached my house and I took farewell of Dragstrip. "See ya next time, I guess." Not very heartfelt.

"Yeah." We started parting ways when Dragstrip shouted. "Hey Dead End." I looked back at him. "Did Wildrider really start cuddling you?"

I was a bit reluctant to answer. "Yes."

Dragstrip gleed before started giggling and walked of. I simple sighed and walked inside.

"Hey Deimon." My mom greeted and hugged me. I hate hugs. "Did you have fun?"

"Yes, I guess." I said and managed to slip by her, heading for my room.

"You want to do anything today?" She asked, probably trying to involve me in some activity.

"Yeah, stay in my room. Don't disturb me until lunch." As usually conversations with my mom was about ending them. I stepped into my room and shut the door. I flew up on my bed and sighed in relief over being alone at last. Pouting, I once again pulled my medicine box from underneath my bed. Once again I held the jar of fluoxetine in my left hand and the one with Nembutal in my right.

I smirked cynically and gave a dark chuckle. I opened both jars and held the suicide pills into my jar of anti-depressions.

* * *

 **Author's Note:**

 **Well, that was fun…**

 **I usually don't like these Human AU stories or any Transformers stories that focus on humans (seriously guys, it's called Transformers for a reason) but when I got the idea for the Stunticons as a gang of reckless teenagers I guess I couldn't help myself. I decided to tell it from Dead End's perspective since he is my favorite. I thought would be kind of a dark joke to have a suicidal teenager with no real reason to commit suicide.**

 **There was several scenes I intended to put in here that I ultimately had to cut since I felt they dragged the story down, including a police chase and a poem about Dead End's suicide drugs.**

 **More than Skillet's Those Nights other sources of inspiration for this story was the movies Tsotsi and This is England (if you haven't seen them I urge you to do so).**

 **My source of information about Nembutal is .**

 **Hope you enjoyed this. Your reviews are greatly appreciated.**


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